Made of Outer Space
by commanderdata
Summary: They find each other. Coffee shop AU.
1. Chapter 1

Eight-fifteen exactly. Every morning, without fail, she walks through the door at eight-fifteen. Orders the same drink every morning. Black coffee, three sugars, every morning.

Most days she sits in the same booth, tucked away in the corner. Sometimes she seems content to let the time slip by as she gazes out the window and nurses her coffee. Other days she rushes in to grab a cup of her usual and hurries back out.

Today she's hunched over her laptop, papers strewn across the table, drink apparently forgotten. Her brow furrows, fingers typing out a furious rhythm. A pause, then she shakes her head and frowns, her dissatisfaction evident. A stray piece of her fringe falls out of place and she brushes it away.

Of late, he has found himself fascinated by her. The way her fingers drum on the table and her nose crinkles when she's deep in thought. The way the soft morning light streaming through the window hits her fair hair. The slight curve of her mouth when she smiles. For reasons he cannot explain, her behavior is _captivating_ to him.

She occupies his thoughts with increasing frequency, to his great confusion and frustration. He doesn't even know her _name_. He knows she's a business woman of some sort. She takes her coffee black with three sugars. How he could be so intrigued by someone he knew only as a familiar face in a coffee shop was a mystery to him. Nevertheless, he often finds his thoughts drifting back to the woman with her black coffee and her light hair and pleasant smiles.

She closes her laptop with a sigh, combs her fingers through her short hair. As she starts collecting her papers from every end of the table, she looks up and gives him a small smile.

It strikes him then that he was probably staring and he drops his eyes down to his cup, feeling his cheeks burn red hot. Not wanting to seem impolite, he looks up, returns her smile with a sheepish grin of his own, then immediately returns his gaze to his cold mug of coffee.

He resolves then to speak to her tomorrow, at least say hello. Perhaps this perplexing fascination will dissipate naturally if he gets to know her. He gathers his belongings and sets out to start the day, the image of her warm smile fixed in his mind.

* * *

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

He looks up from his notebook to see _her_ standing there and his heart skips a beat. A pause, then a shake of the head. "Not at all," he says with a gesture to the chair across from him.

A nod. She sits down and folds her arms, not quite meeting his gaze. "I… noticed you looking at me yesterday," she states, eyes fixed on her cup.

That familiar burn returns to his cheeks. "I apologize if I offended you. It was not my intention to be rude."

"No, you didn't offend me," she reassures, finally meeting his eyes. "I just… wanted to introduce myself. We've seen each other every morning for months now and never said anything to each other, so…" A shrug.

A faint smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. "I was planning on introducing myself to you today, as a matter of fact. I have wanted to speak to you for some time, but I was unsure of what to say."

"You've been wanting to speak to me?" she smiles. "For how long?"

He shrugs, hoping to appear nonchalant. "A few weeks, I suppose. I find you… very interesting," he confesses. "I hope that does not disturb you."

Her eyes widen and she lifts a hand to point at herself. "Me? I'm— I'm not interesting…." she stammers. "I'm just…"

She coughs, seems to consider his admission for a moment, then smiles. "I'm Natasha. But my friends call me Tasha."

She offers her hand and he shakes it with both of his. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Natasha."

That brings a laugh out of her. "No, you can call me Tasha."

His head tilts to the right slightly, eyebrows raised. "Very well. It is a pleasure to meet you, _Tasha_."

"Likewise, Mister…?"

"Data. My given name is David, however, my friends and colleagues call me Data." A pause. "You may call me Data, if you so wish."

"Data, huh?" Tasha narrows her eyes, looks him over, then nods. "It suits you."

"Many people have said that it is an appropriate appellation," he concurs.

She hums in agreement and takes a sip of her drink. "So," she points to his notebook, "are you a writer of some sort? A journalist?"

"Not as such. I was recording notes for my lecture this afternoon," Data says. "I am a professor."

She laughs brightly. "I should have guessed. You look like a professor, with that hair and those clothes."

A frown. He looks down and adjusts his jacket. "Is there something wrong with my clothing?"

"No, no! They're fine, you look fine. Just, very…" she trails off, searching for the right word, "professor-like is all."

His expression makes it clear that he still doesn't understand, but he decides not to question further. A pause, then, "What is _your_ occupation?" he inquires.

"I'm an accountant." She shrugs. "Not the most exciting line of work, but I enjoy it. I was lucky to even get the job to begin with. I started off with the company as a night-time security guard, if you can believe that."

"I am not certain if I can imagine that," he replies.

"Yeah, well," she chuckles, "I took the security job while I was in school and by the time I graduated, the accounting department was hiring. I applied on a whim, and here we are."

"Have you worked there long?"

She tugs on her ear. "Well, it's been about five years now since I took the security position. I only started the accounting job a few months back," Tasha explains.

"Approximately the same time you began frequenting this shop, correct?" he asks.

"That's right, yeah. When I graduated and got the new job, I had a lot more free time— and money —on my hands. And it's nice to take some time to relax before the work day starts, you know?"

A smile splits his face. "You did not appear relaxed yesterday morning," he counters.

"No kidding," she huffs. "I had my first meeting with the regional manager. I had to give a presentation and I wanted to make sure I made a good first impression."

"It went well, I trust?"

"Well, I made some mistakes, stumbled over my words a bit, but, all in all," she waves a dismissive hand, "it could have been a lot worse."

"I am certain your presentation was exceptional," he assures her.

A comfortable silence settles between them and Data returns to his notebook. She takes the opportunity of the lull in conversation to check her email and skim over the day's memos.

After several minutes of quiet, he asks, "Is there something unappealing about my hair?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

He lays his pen on the table with a frown. "Earlier, you noted that my clothing and hair were 'professor-like'. You assured me that my clothing was acceptable, but did not comment on my hair. Do you suggest I wear it in a different fashion?"

She has to bite her bottom lip to resist the urge to giggle. "Your hair is fine, Data. I just meant that you professor-types never seem to find time to use a hair brush." She leans forward to give him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "It looks good on you."

He runs a hand over his tousled mop. "Thank you, Tasha."

A lopsided smile is her reply, then she looks down at her watch and sighs. "Well, I should be going," she says. "Don't want to be late. It was great meeting you, Data."

He cocks his head sharply to the right. "It was most pleasing to meet you as well, Tasha."

Just before she leaves, she turns back to give him a shy wave. His lips part slightly and he waves back.

She thinks about him for the rest of the day. She doesn't get much work done.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes every ounce of effort for Tasha to get out of bed. She had finally crawled under the covers early in the morning after hours of catching up with reports she had neglected to finish during the work day. Matters not dealing with profit and loss statements and book keeping had occupied her thoughts, and now she was paying for her inattentiveness.

Tasha silently chides herself for getting so distracted. Daydreaming at the office is the _last_ thing she needs to be making a habit of.

For a moment, she considers skipping the coffee and heading straight to work. Maybe if she doesn't see him today, she'll be able to focus and have a productive shift. Then, she reminds herself how little sleep she's running on, and just how good a hot cup of coffee sounds, and perishes the thought from her mind.

A deep, steadying breath. She was an adult, dammit. Avoiding him would get her nowhere, maybe even make matters worse. She could talk with Data and still focus at work.

She rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms. It was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

Data is in his usual spot when she arrives, nose buried in a book. As soon as she enters, he looks up, smiles. She does her best to give him a grin of her own that ends up looking more like a grimace. Tasha would be the first to admit that she is not a morning person on the _best_ of days, but today, trying to get by with little sleep, she has never hated mornings more.

She orders her drink and plops down on the chair across from Data with a sigh.

Tired eyes and flushed skin stand out to him, but he decides it best not to comment. "Good morning, Tasha," he greets as he closes his book.

A grunt and a nod is her response.

"Am I to take it that you are _not_ having a good morning?"

A soft chuckle. "I guess you could say that," she says.

"I am sorry," he says. "Is there anything I can do?"

She takes a long gulp of her coffee and shakes her head. "No, no, don't worry, I'll be fine. Just off to a rough start."

A lopsided frown tugs at his mouth. "Did you have trouble sleeping last night?" he asks with concern.

"Well, I was up late finishing a mountain of work that didn't get done at the office," she explains. "By the time I got to bed, it was almost two, so I'm running on a few hours of sleep right now."

"Were you unusually busy yesterday?"

Tasha hesitates. "No, not really," she admits. "I was just… distracted most of the day. I… had a lot of things on my mind."

He cocks his head. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

"No," she blurts. "Well," her fingers rub her forehead, "maybe I do want to talk about it."

"I will listen, if you wish to talk," Data says.

She's quiet for a moment. Part of her wants to get up and leave. Find a new place to get her coffee. Leave this whole frustrating situation behind. But a bigger part of her _wants_ to tell him, _wants_ him to know that she spent all day thinking about him and those blue eyes and that soft voice.

Inhale. Exhale. "Do you remember yesterday," she starts, "when you said you found me interesting?"

A nod. "I do."

No going back now. "Well, I guess— I guess I find you pretty interesting too," she confesses, "because I thought about you a lot."

"You thought about me?" he echoes, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, I did. I really enjoyed our conversation yesterday and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I don't know why, but— I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Tasha," he says, wringing his hands, "may I tell you something?"

"Of course."

Features tense in concentration for a brief moment, then his expression softens. "I find my thoughts quite frequently focused on you. I—" He falls silent.

"Go ahead," Tasha coaxes, "you can tell me."

"I… like you. Very much," he finishes quietly.

Her breath catches in her throat and for a moment, she's not sure what to say.

"I am aware that it is a strange thing to say," Data adds, "considering we only formally introduced ourselves yesterday. For some reason, I find you easy to talk to. I feel as though I have known you for many years."

Before she has a chance to think, the words are spilling out of her mouth. "Do you want to go out somewhere? Tomorrow, maybe?" A nervous smile. "Get to know each other better?"

His lips part and he nods with enthusiasm. "I would like that very much."

"Good. It's a date, then."

"A date it is," he grins.

His smile is infectious and she can't help the toothy grin that splits her face. She returns to her coffee, Data to his book. He begins to wonder what he should wear tomorrow.

"Can I borrow a pen?" she asks suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"Certainly."

She grabs a napkin, scrawls something on it, and slides it across the table. Ten digits with the words 'call me' written messily underneath. When he looks up to say something, she is already gone.

* * *

Of all the people she expected to mind their own damn business, Will Riker was not one of them. So it should not have come as a surprise when he came sauntering up to her during lunch, that know-it-all grin plastered on his face. He was a sweet guy and— though she'd never admit it to him— had quickly become one of her dearest friends, the closest thing she had to a brother. But he could be _infuriating_ at times, and by the look on his face, this was going to be one of those times.

"If you're looking for someone to bug," she says between bites of her sandwich, "go bug Deanna."

"She's not _nearly_ as fun to bug as you are," Will argues. "Besides, I've already annoyed her enough today. Figure it's best if I give someone else a chance."

She doesn't bother trying to hide her eye roll. "You're impossible."

"So," he takes a sip from his favorite 'number one' mug, that idiotic grin still stuck on his face, "who is it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on," he says, "the person you're seeing. And don't bother denying it, because we both know you'd be lying."

Tasha shakes her head. "Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not seeing anyone."

"No, no, I've seen you," he says with a wag of his finger, "you get that _look_ on your face and you stare off into space with a twinkle in your eye. It's _unmistakeable_."

"You're imagining things, Will."

"Does Worf know?"

Tasha gives him a stern glare. "You know he hates it when you call him that."

He shrugs. "You ask me, he needs to lighten up. He's too serious for his own good."

She's granted a few minutes of peace before Will disturbs her lunch yet again. "So, are you going to tell me?"

A sigh. "There's nothing to tell, Riker. I met a guy, but that's it. We're not seeing each other, we're just friends. That's it."

She regrets the words as soon as she says them.

"I knew I was right," Will gloats. "So, who is he, what's he like?"

"There's not much I can tell you, I only just met him yesterday."

"Well, alright. Tell me what you _do_ know. What's his name at least?"

"Why are you so curious?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

"Well, someone's got to look out for you, and that heavy burden falls on me." He gives her a playful shove.

Another bite of sandwich and she finally gives in. "His name is David, but he goes by Data. He's a college professor. Very formal guy, but he's got a good sense of humor." She shrugs. "Not much else I can tell you."

"Where does he teach?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know _what_ he teaches?"

"Nope."

"I hope you're not holding out on me," he says as he strokes his beard.

"I'm not. Like I said, I really don't know much of anything about him," she says. "We're getting together tomorrow, so I imagine I'll find out more about him."

That same grin returns. "A date?"

"Yes, a date," she sighs. "Are you happy now? Is your curiosity satisfied?"

He nods. "For now. But I expect to hear all about this date afterwards."

"You have my sincere promise that I'll tell you everything," she says, anything to get him to leave her alone.

"And I intend to hold you to it," he assures her as he strolls out of the break room.

Glad to finally be rid of Will's presence, she breathes a sigh of relief, and returns to her lunch. She makes a mental note to try harder to concentrate on work. Nothing else. Just work.


End file.
